


Ache

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, Light Masochism, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5876965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Takami’s thighs ache. They’ve been hurting all day, offering a faint twinge of pain up his spine every time the seam of his pants catch against them or he presses his legs flush with each other." Takami finds the side effects of Sakuraba's stubble intensely distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ache

Takami’s thighs ache. They’ve been hurting all day, offering a faint twinge of pain up his spine every time the seam of his pants catch against them or he presses his legs flush with each other. The football pants are worse than the school uniform slacks; the fabric fits flush against Takami’s skin and presses the friction of the cloth over him with every movement he takes, until everything he does is met with a flush of heat through all his body as the ache across his skin converts smoothly into temperature in his veins.

It wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks, if it weren’t for the cause. Takami’s had sunburns before, has woken up to leg cramps that left him limping for hours the next day. The problem this time isn’t the comparatively minimal pain or the irregularity of the sensation; it’s the memories that come with it, the reason for the ache infinitely more distracting than the minor hurt itself. Takami knows he probably should have stopped Sakuraba the day before, or at least mentioned that the scratch of the other’s stubble against his legs was leaving the sensitive skin raw and aching from the abuse. But he had barely noticed it at the time; it was just another part of the wave of sensation that was breaking over him as Sakuraba kissed up the inside of his thighs to the flushed heat of his cock, and then Takami was too thoroughly distracted by Sakuraba’s mouth to say anything about it. It wasn’t until the other had left some hours later that Takami had noticed the flush of dull, aching color against the inside of his thighs, and even then it was more appealing than painful, the semi-permanent mark of Sakuraba’s mouth on him enough to bring him to another trembling orgasm in the shower before he collapsed into bed. The hurt was still there in the morning, Takami’s skin still raw and faintly red, and he’s been thinking about it all day, remembering the fit of Sakuraba’s lips against his skin and the scrape of stubble over his legs and trying to fight back the accompanying arousal before he embarrasses himself. He makes it through classes, keeps himself in check during the hours of lecture and the brief break of lunch, even makes it to the locker rooms without incident. But he was barely done changing when Sakuraba arrived, breathless and panting from his jog down to the locker room and bringing all the clean bright of the outside air with him, and Takami’s been ruined ever since, so painfully hard against the inside of his uniform pants that it’s been difficult even to keep his mind on what he’s doing. He misses passes he should make, acts on the wrong formation than the one they’re practicing, and when the coach finally pulls him off the field he’s so flushed that he passes for feverish and gets sent to change and rest for the remainder of the day.

Takami doesn’t protest. It’s his own fault, he knows, the hours of missed practice something he’ll fret about later and make up twice over on his own time, but right now he’s dizzy with arousal, and the ache along his thighs is unfurling up his spine until he can barely stand up straight and can’t think of anything except how long it will take him to get the five minutes alone that he needs to jerk off and pull himself back together. He beelines for the locker room as soon as he’s dismissed, sheds his uniform with hands shaking so badly he can barely stuff the clothing back into his locker, and then he’s around the corner to the showers and reaching for the flushed ache of his cock before he’s even fumbled the water on. The spray hits him like ice, cold splashing against the hunch of his shoulders and down the curve of his back, but Takami’s arousal doesn’t loose the insistent hold it has on him; if anything the bite of the cold twitches him harder, pulling a groan from his throat as he leans forward against the wall to press his forehead to his arm and steady his hold on himself. The water warms, his hand strokes, and his breathing is just starting to unknot itself in his chest when the locker room door opens to spill a wave of light into the main part of the space.

“Takami?” comes a voice skidding high on concern and anticipation in equal parts, and Takami shuts his eyes for a moment and lets the brief flicker of panic at being caught ease from his shoulders. The water is hot at his skin, now, almost scalding; he doesn’t reach to turn it down.

“In here,” he says against the tile, letting the reflection of the surface echo his voice back to Sakuraba around the corner. He opens his eyes, blinks past the blur of water collecting on the glasses he didn’t pause to take off, and turns his head just as Sakuraba comes into sight around the edge of the dividing wall. He’s still in his uniform, flushed pink and sweating from the exertion of practice; Takami can watch the other’s eyes go wide as Sakuraba sees him, can see the flicker of his attention down over Takami’s body, can feel his gaze carrying more blistering heat than the water does.

“Take your uniform off,” Takami manages, grating the words past the raw want in his throat. Sakuraba blinks, swallows hard -- Takami can see his throat work on the action -- and then reaches for his pants, fumbling the laces open without looking away from the drag of Takami’s hand over himself. Takami has to turn away, has to shut his eyes again, because he _could_ come in a matter of seconds, could twist his wrist and drag his fingers and force himself into the shuddering relief of orgasm, but now that Sakuraba’s here he wants to push it off, wants to fight back the pressure of pleasure long enough to get the other’s hands on him.

It feels like it takes forever. Takami listens to the sound of Sakuraba shifting, to the rustle of clothing and the sound of his footsteps as he steps free of his pants; he can hear the other breathing harder, can hear the sound of his inhales desperate enough to be clear over the splash of water onto the tiled floor. Takami can feel heat coiling low in his abdomen, tensing anxious against the front of his thighs, and he’s just thinking about letting himself go completely when there’s the sound of footsteps as Sakuraba crosses the distance towards where Takami is braced under the spray of the shower.

“Takami,” Sakuraba breathes as he comes in close, as his feet bump Takami’s and his hands come out to brace the other’s hips. Takami shudders at the contact, stills the drag of his hold over himself into a grip at the base of his cock instead, and Sakuraba presses flush against his spine to fit the lines of his chest to the curve of Takami’s back.

“How did you get out of practice?” Takami asks without opening his eyes. When he ducks his head the water catches at his hair, weighting the strands to fall heavy in his face, and Sakuraba leans close to fit his mouth to the knob at the top of Takami’s spine.

“I said I was going to check on you,” he says, murmuring the words to Takami’s shoulder. His stubble catches the other’s neck, dragging friction against the sensitive skin, and Takami shudders all through his body and tightens his fingers against his cock again. “I promised we’d do extra practice later once you were feeling better.”

“Right,” Takami says, and lets his hold go so he can brace his palm at the wall instead, can spread his fingers wide and hold himself steady. Sakuraba’s hands are at his hips, his fingers catching to fit his skin closer to Takami’s body than even the water running over them; when he tugs Takami lets his weight rock back, lets himself slide slick against Sakuraba’s body. Sakuraba groans faintly against Takami’s neck; when he arches himself forward Takami can feel the shape of the other’s cock fitting in against the curve of his ass. Takami moans, something hot and formless against the tiled wall of the shower, and Sakuraba grinds against him, sliding the heat of his cock against Takami’s skin in a desperate bid for friction. It feels good, to have Sakuraba so close against him, to have the other’s mouth pressing soft at his skin, but Takami’s thighs are still aching, and his cock is still thrumming heat. He’s panting against the wall, his legs straining to get him higher, to lift his weight by an inch, two -- and then Sakuraba rocks forward, and his cock catches and slides between Takami’s legs, and Takami hears himself choke a whimper at the sudden rush of sensation that hits him.

“Oh god,” Sakuraba blurts, and “sorry” as he starts to draw back, but Takami is reaching for him, is grabbing desperate at his hip to hold him where he is instead.

“No,” he says, “don’t stop,” as he tightens his hold into the anxious pull of sincerity. He can feel Sakuraba’s cock hot against his thighs, can feel the flushed resistance burning heat over the raw-sensitive skin, and he wants it, wants _more_ , wants to feel the friction all the way up his spine and shorting out his thoughts. He keeps holding to Sakuraba’s hip, keeps the other from pulling away while he shifts his feet to press his thighs together, to catch as much pressure as he can around the other’s length; it’s only then that he lets his fingers ease and draws his hand away to brace at the slippery wet of the wall.

“Like that,” Takami says, his whole body flushing hot in anticipation. “You can move.”

Takami can hear the breath Sakuraba lets out, can feel the shake of it like it’s an echo of the fire trickling along his spine. “Are you sure?” Sakuraba asks, but he’s steadying his hands at Takami’s hips without waiting for an answer, is spreading his feet wider against the tile to set his stance. He takes a half-thrust forward, enough to catch Takami’s lungs into a startled gasp of air; then he draws back, pushes forward again, and when Takami groans this time Sakuraba’s voice spills at in harmony, the sound catching and tangling together as Sakuraba’s cock forces friction between the inside line of his thighs.

The ache is sharp, the heat of Sakuraba’s movement blistering against too-sensitive skin, and Sakuraba is gasping, offering a breathless “ _God_ ” into Takami’s shoulder. “This is--” and he moves again with another dragging slide of motion.Takami can feel his groan tear up out of his chest, can feel the heat of it scorch his lungs and up his throat as it comes, and Sakuraba moves again, thrusts to force the shape of his cock in against the flexing strain in Takami’s thighs. His motion is choppy, the friction too much to allow for a smooth pattern to his thrusts, but Takami can feel how hard Sakuraba is against him, can feel the ridge at the head of the other’s cock sliding over him with every thrust. His skin is burning like it’s under the sun, his cock is throbbing with its need for friction, but Sakuraba is still moving, settling closer with each rock of his hips, and Takami can’t breathe, can’t even keep his head up for the dizzy weight of his attention. His eyes are open, his glasses fogged; there’s water dripping off his hair and across his shoulders, spilling rivulets over his skin, but he’s staring at the line of his legs, watching the shadow of Sakuraba’s cock push against the red-raw skin. The entire inside line of his thighs aches, sharp and bright and blinding, but Sakuraba is still fucking against his thighs and Takami doesn’t want him to stop even if it would quench the fire under his skin. He can see the flushed head of Sakuraba’s cock under his own, the dark of it pressing his legs apart with each of the other’s thrusts to bump against the underside of his balls, and Takami’s breathing is winding tighter in his chest, coming harder with every angling thrust Sakuraba takes. Sakuraba’s fingers dig in at Takami’s hips, his mouth coming open on some incoherent gasp, and Takami can see his cock twitch, can see the spurt of liquid as Sakuraba starts to come against the tight flex of Takami’s balls. Takami chokes on an inhale, his vision flickering to white, and his whole body shudders, working over the convulsive jolts of pleasure as his untouched cock pulses and starts to spills him into relief. He can’t see, he can’t breathe, and then Sakuraba lets his hip go to reach for his cock and Takami shouts with the sensation, with aftershocks turned strong enough to stripe lines of come over the tiled wall in front of them just at the touch of Sakuraba’s fingers. His knees are shaking, his balance precarious, but he just keeps jolting through each rush of pleasure, unable to do anything but ride them out and hope that his bracing arms and Sakuraba’s widespread stance can keep them upright.

Takami doesn’t know how long it is after that that he can see again. His breathing comes back first, a raw, hoarse drag in the back of his throat; it’s only after that that the white starts to ease from his sight, that the fog of satisfaction releases him to hazy vision through his glasses. Sakuraba is still holding him, still has his fingers gentle around Takami’s softening cock; Takami gasps when Sakuraba lets him go and hisses when the other starts to draw back and step away.

“ _Wait_ ,” he chokes out, and Sakuraba stills, freezing in place before Takami has even reached around to touch his hip. Takami takes a breath, braces himself, and when he moves it’s to take a step to the side, to pull the aching heat of his thighs away from each other so the splash of the water can hit them again. He gasps a breath at the agonizing relief of it, has to shut his eyes again to the spray of water, and Sakuraba pulls back and away from direct contact.

“God,” he breathes, sounding shocked and faintly panicked as a hand lifts from Takami’s hip. “You’re all red, are you okay?” There’s a touch, fingertips kissing the inside of Takami’s thigh, and Takami jolts, his whole body shuddering at the electric fire of Sakuraba’s touch against the oversensitive skin.

“ _Ah_ ,” Takami chokes, and “Yes,” although he knows he doesn’t sound it. “It’s from yesterday.”

“Oh my god,” Sakuraba breathes, sounding appalled. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No,” Takami says, and he’s still not certain of his footing but this is important. He flattens his hand to the wall, using the support to hold himself steady while he shifts his feet to turn and twist in Sakuraba’s hold until he can face the other fully. Sakuraba’s eyes are wide, endlessly clear and bright as jewels; Takami smiles without intending to and reaches out to catch a hand at the back of Sakuraba’s neck as he tips back to let the cool of the tile support his shoulders.

“I liked it,” he reiterates, as if the pleasure-shaky tremor in his body weren’t proof enough of that. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.” His smile catches wider, tugs lopsided and self-deprecating; when he lifts his other hand it’s to adjust his glasses in pursuit of the clarity the fog of the shower won’t grant him. “I couldn’t keep my focus because I was thinking about your mouth.”

Sakuraba’s eyelashes flutter. His smile is unconscious, Takami thinks, soft and startled like Takami has called it into existence by his words. “Really?”

“Mm,” Takami hums, and reaches out to touch his fingertips to Sakuraba’s lips, to linger for a moment before dragging them down and over the dark of the stubble at his chin. “Really.”

Sakuraba’s mouth curves softer, his eyes catching the expression in the moment before they dip from Takami’s gaze to the shape of the other’s smile and cling at the corner of his lips. “As long as you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Takami tells him, firm with certainty, and pulls Sakuraba in close for a kiss.

He can feel the catch of friction against his skin as Sakuraba’s lips fit to his.


End file.
